Experimental Sexual Practices
by 1lostone
Summary: Sherlock has a rather extensive list of things he wishes to try. If John's up for it. PWP. (I mean it!)
1. Experimental Sexual Practices

For jlm. **This is birthday fic for JLM! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! ENJOY YOUR PORNICOPIA OF PORN, BB! **  
Thanks to diva0789 for the betaing even when she was sick as hell, and Gin for the britpick. If you made it past all the tags and are still reading, I should warn you that this is my first fic in this fandom. There are also a few more warnings, posted at the bottom for those of you who are particularly squicked. Even more importantly, there are amazing bits of art embedded in this work, although since ao3 is sometimes funky, if you can't see something properly please click on the image for a better view. If for some reason you can't see them, I have included them at the bottom notes. **THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU **TO henshufangirl, and spicywolfette for volunteering to draw art for this ridiculous story and helping to make jlm121's birthday present a memorable one! **SERIOUSLY I CAN'T THANK YOU BOTH ENOUGH.**

**Warnings: PWP; Oay a really LONG PWP; Clothing Kink; Orgasm Delay/Denial; Blow Jobs; Fingerfucking; Anal Play; Anal Plug; Fisting**

* * *

As much as John was found to go hounding off behind the swirl of Sherlock's coat at the first sign of danger, he had to admit that he really didn't mind the occasional quiet evening in at home. It was nice. He had settled for the evening in his chair, idly blowing at his cup of tea, waiting until it wasn't scalding before he took a sip.

The muted sounds of the busy London night were quiet, with the occasional head light shining in through the window curtains. He took another sip of his tea. Sherlock usually read the newspaper in the morning and John in the evening when he could sit through them and enjoy the news without his twitchy flatmate telling him all the good bits before he got to them.

"Tell me, John. Would you consider anal fisting a deviant sexual practice?"

"Bit deviant, yeah. Did you see this article about the ferr—" He paused, then ran what Sherlock said over in his mind, cocking his head a little as he figured out that yes, Sherlock really_ did_ just ask him what he thought he had. John inhaled sharply, choking on his tea, lowering the newspaper. It took him a second for his lungs to work properly. John gaped over the top of it at where his mad flatmate was sprawled on their couch. Sherlock had been in the same position when John had left for the surgery around noon. For all he knew, Sherlock hadn't moved since. He shut his mouth, then forced himself to speak. "No cases, then?"

Sherlock made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and swung his long frame off of the couch so that he was sitting up, gaze meeting John's. He crossed his arms and flopped back onto the seat as though John had asked him the most difficult question he'd ever heard. "Not as such, no."

When Sherlock didn't say anything else, John slowly raised the newspaper so that Sherlock couldn't see him pull a face. Before John had even zeroed in on the article about the ferrets and the eighteen handbags full of different species of flowers found on the tube, Sherlock had moved so that he could peek at John over the top of the newspaper, making certain that he had his attention before he continued.

"I have been compiling a list of common sexual practices, slightly less than common sexual practices, and less than socially acceptable sexual practices."

John gaped, blinking. For some reason, the thought of Sherlock and sex was really rather a bit of a shock. After that whole debacle when they'd met, John had thought that Sherlock was asexual. For some reason, the idea that he might not be made John's throat dry.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, come now, John. Surely you realize that the likelihood of a man of my age and obvious attractiveness remaining sexually chaste is relatively small. I am merely attempting to discover what the average person enjoys. Sexually."

John set down the newspaper. He very carefully took a sip of his tea. "Hm. I don't know that there's an 'average' when it comes to what gets people off, Sherlock. People just like what they like."

"Nonsense. There are obvious commonalities, John. There have to be. My research in this manner is exhaustive, conclusively showing that many people, regardless of their social, economic, or educational level, enjoy quite a bit of the same sorts of sexual gratification. Therefore, commonalities."

John nodded. "Your... research? Been on the pull then?" He wasn't too sure what to do with the dark feeling that wrapped around his gut at the idea of Sherlock working through a list of sex acts with a number of sexual partners.

Sherlock reached out with to grab his abandoned laptop, waving it around like it held all the answers to all of the questions in the world, before setting it back down on the coffee table. "Come here." His imperious demand had John half-rising from his comfortable chair before he'd realized that Sherlock had completely ignored John's comment. "It's all useless, John. I've attempted to poll numerous people anonymously from various message boards of course, but that data is..." Sherlock made a disgusted sound, like he couldn't stand to invalidate any sort of data. "Skewed. Interviewing people in person was rather less than helpful."

John sat down besides Sherlock, refusing to picture Sherlock systematically interviewing a select skill set of people about their most favoured sexual positions. Mycroft probably had extensive CCTV footage, anyway. Maybe he and Greg could watch a copy together over their next pint. "Interviews? You... just went up to people and asked them how they like to fu—" John trailed off at Sherlock's glare.

"Don't be any more ridiculous than you can help. Of course not." Sherlock opened up the laptop and John's eyes bugged out slightly as he stared at the video Sherlock had previously paused. There were two men on the bed. The one on the bottom was arched, obviously pressing his lower body towards the other man at the foot of the bed. Before John could blink, Sherlock had unpaused the video. The man on the bed moaned as the other slowly worked a thick red toy into his arse.

John opened his mouth, then closed it, only to open it again. He felt a blush stain his cheeks and crossed his arms, staring resolutely at the screen. "When you said women weren't your area..."

"_Really_, not, no." Sherlock shifted, folding himself up so that his heels were on the edge of the cushion, knees bent. He crossed his arms across his chest. He cleared his throat a little. "Incidentally, these pornography sites are the same ones that are saved in your bookmarks."

"Okay, so what is this, exactly?"

"Obviously it's a man being rogered by a silicone toy shaped as a rather large, erect penis, John. Do keep up."

John huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, waiting for his great git of a flatmate to get to the bloody point.

"I am attempting to discover what exactly it is that makes a sexual act tedious for one person and stimulating for someone else."

"Not everyone is the _same_, Sherlock. You can't possibly expect..."

"Wrong! Look at the evidence, John. People have varying, infinitesimal differences but at the core, they're the same. A great, thriving mass of mediocrity. Observe the information on this website!" Sherlock flung out one long-fingered hand towards the laptop sitting on the coffee table, wiggling his arm so that the sleeve of his dressing gown slithered down his arm to his elbow.

John didn't think he could look _away_ from it. The man on the video was biting his lip, flushed face looking as though what he was feeling was the most intense experience that he'd ever had. He shifted uncomfortably on the leather couch, resolutely not making eye contact.

"Anal, gay, lesbian, threesome, toys... the sites I've researched all have the same categories. Common, boring sex, sectioned and organized by popularity."

"Actually, I think that's alphabe-."

"-Yet, people use these sites to 'get off,' as you so crudely put it, safe behind their computer screens, looking at acts that they might never experience firsthand! I want to _know_, John!"

John licked his lips. Was Sherlock asking...? John wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to say what thought just popped into his head. Surely not. _Surely_ Sherlock wasn't...

"I do realize that it might not be socially acceptable to ask one's flatmate to have varying amounts of possibly bizarre sex with them, but I have recently come to the decision that there is no one else with which I wish to conduct this experiment. You've experienced many of the signs of attraction towards my person, you are a caring individual, and while you are quite experienced, you have not had sexual intercourse in over a year."

John stood up, closing the laptop with a soft click. The moaning continued for a brief minute until the sleep mode kicked in completely. One small part of his mind was aware that Sherlock was coming as close to babbling as John had ever heard, while the rest was picturing the long, clean lines of Sherlock's body completely naked, writhing and sweaty against soft sheets. He swallowed.

Sherlock hadn't quite yet met his eyes. "Of course, I would be able to ... I mean there are several discrete establishments that cater to a number of sexual—"

"No." John's hand shot out to grip Sherlock's knee, fingers, tingling. "No. No one else." He bit his lip, moving his hand off of Sherlock's knee. "What... what kind of 'bizarre sex' were you thinking of then?" He idly noticed that Sherlock had twisted their grip so that he was taking John's pulse.

Sherlock smirked and tossed John a small spiral-bound notebook with his free hand.

John's gaze flicked over it, curiously. His eyes widened. His cock twitched in his pants. He felt lightheaded. "The..." John had to start again. "The stars?"

"Acts that I have tried and enjoyed."

John nodded, blankly. He wanted some time with wikipedia to look some of the items up. A few he'd never tried, several he had and even more... well. It seemed as though Sherlock had pulled them right from his head.

John's gaze focused on the third item down and frowned. "Sherlock-?"

"Oh. That. Dull. Given that I am particularly curious about," he leaned over and pointed at a few items, "these, I'm willing to try again. I concede that I might be misremembering my previous experience."

John shut his mouth with a snap, the frown becoming more pronounced. Sherlock didn't often refer to his addiction, but when he did it always threw him for a bit of a loop.

Sherlock took back the notebook and tossed it near the closed laptop. "Do you wish to have sex with me, John?"

John stood there, trying to juxtapose what he so desperately wanted with what he should do. John opened his mouth to tell Sherlock that no, he couldn't possibly risk their friendship like that, was he absolutely barking!?-saw the flash of disappointment before Sherlock's face became a mask of indifference, but when he spoke all that he said was. "Yes. _God_, yes."

Sherlock's answering smile was absolutely wicked.

***

* * *

John bit his lip, surveying his room with a quick, nervous glance. He could hear the shower running in the downstairs bathroom, and the realization of just exactly what Sherlock was doing in there caused his heart rate to speed up slightly.

Everything looked ready: Duvet pulled down and folded at the end of the bed. One towel bundled up near the foot of the bed, one on the nightstand near the lamp.

"Oh. Right." John crossed over to the nightstand and slid open the top drawer. The lube that he'd finally settled on had one of those foil seals. He didn't want to have to bother with it while things were... heated, so he peeled off the little circle of aluminium and closed the cap with a soft click. John started to put it back in the drawer, then just tossed it on the end of the bed. There really was no point in being coy here. It wasn't like this was some sort of ... seduction or anything. In fact, it was about as far from a seduction as one could get.

John rubbed at the back of his neck and flicked on the lamp, jumping a little when he heard the rattle of the pipes that signified that Sherlock was done with his shower. It had just gone dusk when he'd started his preparations, so the lamp gave the room just the perfect amount of light. John snorted and crossed to his closet, pulling off his jumper and shirt, leaving just a t-shirt and his jeans. He briefly debated stripping off completely, but thought of Sherlock's list and stayed dressed. John hadn't even realized that that was a kink. But he supposed it would be, wouldn't it? John could see Sherlock's almost illegible handwriting perfectly in his mind's eye (smiling a bit at how some of the more adventuresome acts had been crowded a bit on at the end of the list), and groaned, still not completely sure this wasn't some elaborate prank of his mad flatmate's.

Fuck.

Sherlock's list.

Sherlock and his bloody _list_.

"John."

John startled and turned, only to almost choke on the air he sucked in when he saw Sherlock standing in the doorway to his room wrapped only in a towel around his waist. He coughed, jerking his gaze away from the droplets of water trailing slowly down Sherlock's long neck to pool in his collarbone, only to jerk his gaze up to meet Sherlock's.

He was surprised to see a faint blush staining Sherlock's prominent cheekbones. "Sherlock?"

"I just wanted to assure you that while this experiment has, to some degree, a level of intimacy that neither of us are particularly familiar with... That is to say, intimacy with one _another_... if you are not absolutely comfortable at the idea of..." He trailed off with a disgusted sound, clearly frustrated with his inability to be articulate.

It shouldn't have been so... adorable. 'Sherlock Holmes' and 'Adorable' were two words that should have never been used together.

Right about then, John knew he was completely fucked.

John was charmed in spite of himself. Sherlock showing that he was out of his element was surprising enough, but Sherlock showing that he was out of his element twice in as many days left John nearly gobsmacked. He rubbed the back of his neck again and took a step forward, reaching out to touch the drop of water. Sherlock swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing with the movement of his throat. John could hear Sherlock's breath catch at the small caress. The tiny droplet of water shivered and fell, rolling down Sherlock's pale skin.

"This is the second time you've tried to talk me out of this." John looked up and his eyes caught with Sherlock's greenish-gray gaze. "I can promise you that I if I didn't want to do something, I'd tell you." John took a step forward, tracing his finger over the long line of Sherlock's clavicle, up the curve of Sherlock's shoulder, and down over the top of his arm. "And you're not some missish flower of sweetness." Sherlock snorted, then seemed surprised when John grinned. "If you don't want something once we start, or have changed your mind, I trust you to tell me." John leaned forward and brushed his lips across Sherlock's sternum. "And trust me to do the same."

Sherlock nodded, reached down, and dropped the towel. He raised his eyebrow and John stepped to the side, looking his fill as Sherlock walked to John's bed. Sherlock took in John's preparations, and shivered slightly as he stretched out on the sheets settling his long frame so that he was comfortable. "So, are you ready?"

John had to laugh at that. "Are you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John saw the small, pink swipe of the tip of his tongue as Sherlock licked his lips. "Answering a question with a question. So tedious, John." He spread his legs slightly, bending one knee in blatant invitation. John wasn't sure if the pose was affected or by chance, but either way it made him want to move things along.

Now.

John swallowed slightly as his gaze drifted over Sherlock's long legs, settling on the way Sherlock's penis twitched against his pale thigh. John licked his lips again at seeing that Sherlock was circumcised. It was enough out of the norm that John found himself staring. John wanted to play with him, to stroke and touch and lick at the darkening head until Sherlock moaned for him. Under his gaze it hardened, thickening slightly and lengthening quite a bit, becoming red and full. To tease them both, John reached out to touch the lean muscle of Sherlock's thigh instead of the cock in front of him. Sherlock's skin was slightly cold and still a bit damp after his shower. He shifted on the bed, and John jerked his gaze somewhat guiltily up towards Sherlock's face.

John moved so that he could sit on the bed and leaned over Sherlock's body, holding his weight with the palm of his hand against the smooth sheets, taking care to brush Sherlock's naked skin with his clothes. "All right?"

In answer, Sherlock sat up to rub his cheek against the soft material of John's t-shirt. There was an awkward moment where John thought Sherlock was moving in for a kiss, but when instead he jerked back from John's mouth it made something tense low in John's gut. He didn't make a big deal about it, just turning his head to kiss at the line of Sherlock's jaw instead, but he couldn't quite stifle the feeling of awkwardness that he was left with. "No kissing then?"

"I don't think that's necessary, do you? Better that we just adhere to the parameters of this experiment."

Right. Experiment. Belatedly, he remembered that had been one of the crossed out items. John gave a mental shrug and continued brushing his lips against the line of Sherlock's jaw, down the long column of his neck and back down to the collarbone that had so fascinated him earlier. John would have smirked at Sherlock's helpless little shiver if his lips hadn't already been busy.

"Shouldn't I turn," Sherlock broke off as John sucked on a small patch of skin near his shoulder, goosebumps breaking out over his skin. "Over now?"

John slid closer to Sherlock, so that they were pressed against each other. "Aren't you meant to be cataloguing and evaluating the experience?"

"Yes. Of course, John."

"Then why don't you shut up and let me do this? You picked me for my experience, yeah?"

Sherlock shivered again when John pushed him back down onto the bed, sliding so that he was holding himself up over Sherlock's body, with his arms on either side of Sherlock's shoulders, knees planted solidly on the mattress so that he bracketed Sherlock's hips. Sherlock had frozen for a moment before his arms came up; tentatively stroking the palms of his hands down the musculature of John's back. It was John's turn to shiver. When Sherlock cupped his arse, John moaned, shifting so that he could stretch out his legs, lying so that he was on top of Sherlock, to press him into the mattress.

The new position made both men gasp. John pushed his hips against Sherlock's naked body, cock hard in his jeans. He knew Sherlock liked the feel of it by the way his hands pressed John's arse so that their lower bodies were flush against each other. John kept his elbows locked so that he wasn't lying completely on top of Sherlock, but allowed him to pull their lower bodies together.

John bent to kiss at Sherlock's neck. If he wasn't allowed mouth, then he would by God kiss him everywhere else. He traced patterns on Sherlock's skin with his tongue, chasing them with sucking, biting kisses; marking him so that Sherlock would have tangible proof that he and John had been together. Maybe that would make deleting this all the more difficult.

John moved to brush his lips over one of Sherlock's nipples and almost laughed at the way Sherlock arched, crying out at the teasing touch. Sherlock dug his fingernails into John's jeans, the denim keeping John from feeling the small burst of pain. The abrupt movement shifted John just slightly so that their cocks brushed. John collapsed against Sherlock, the strength in his arms completely abandoning him. He pressed his forehead against Sherlock's throat, his whole body lighting up.

"_Christ_, Sherlock."

All at once, John pushed himself up on his knees, pulling away from Sherlock's hands. John glanced up at Sherlock's face to see that he had bitten his lips, leaving his mouth red and swollen. Sherlock's hands were tentative again as he helped John pull off his t-shirt, trailing his hands against John's chest. John shifted again so he was straddling Sherlock's knees, bending to touch and kiss what he could as he slowly moved to the foot of the bed.

Sherlock's cock curved up to lay against his stomach, the wet head leaving a small sticky patch against the trembling muscles in his abdomen. John thought he was going to swallow his tongue. He reached to touch but remembered himself just in time, biting the inside of his cheek. _Damn _that list. John had never thought of himself as a selfish lover before, but he wanted to touch Sherlock so badly that his fingers were shaking. He wanted to feel the smooth head of that cock in his mouth, wanted to taste the bitter saltiness in his throat.

"John." Sherlock reached out to wrap his long fingers around John's wrist, before sliding the palm of his hand against John's. John tangled their fingers together and it was such a strangely intimate gesture that John had to look away before Sherlock deduced every single thought in his head.

"You're ready then?" His voice was low, tense with want.

Sherlock just nodded, letting go and letting his hand flop uselessly onto the bed. John stroked his hands down Sherlock's legs, curving up and down a few times with the softest amount of pressure so that the light hair on Sherlock's body teased at the palms of his hands. He tapped at the soft skin on the inside of Sherlock's thighs and Sherlock opened his legs, stretching one leg out and bending the other at the knee.

John felt a little odd. It was kind of surreal to think that in two days he'd gone from thinking Sherlock was comfortably asexual, to watching how much Sherlock enjoyed being touched, to face to... well, face with Sherlock's spread legs.

John lightly touched the base of Sherlock's cock, shocked again at seeing how smooth he was. Granted, John didn't normally go around thinking of a mate's pubic hair.

"It seemed... appropriate, considering the circumstances."

John huffed a laugh, resting his chin on Sherlock's leg. Sherlock jumped a little at the feel of John's laugh and without thinking, John stroked down his thighs again, calming without drawing attention to the fact that as blasé Sherlock might seem at casual sex, this was still a little strange and mad- even for them.

He moved his hand down over Sherlock's balls, pressing his fingertip into Sherlock's perineum as he moved to brush over the tightly wrinkled skin of his arsehole. John glanced up and saw that Sherlock had moved one arm so that it rested over his face, hiding. With a start John remembered, Sherlock asking if he should turn over. The realization that Sherlock had hoped to keep some level of intimacy hidden from him made John feel oddly guilty and equally protective. He shifted again; pulling at Sherlock's hip until the great git got the idea. It took a bit of manoeuvring so that no one kicked anyone else in the face, but in short order Sherlock was spread out in front of him again, on his spread knees with his delectable arse in the air.

John had to restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in glee.

Sherlock had turned his head so that he wasn't face-first in the pillow, long arms tightening around the pillow.

"Everything comfortable?"

Sherlock started to nod, then reached under himself to adjust his cock, before nodding and smirking. "In your own time, John."

John rolled his eyes and reached for the hastily stashed lube, wishing he had thought to warm it up. He put it under his leg so that his body heat would hopefully make it less god awfully chilly. John leaned over and kissed one arse cheek, grinning a little wickedly at the undignified squeak of sound that emerged from Sherlock's throat. This wasn't, strictly speaking, one of the things that Sherlock had indicated on his thrice-damned list, but John would be damned if he was going to miss out on this chance.

Sherlock shifted a little when John's jeans brushed against him again, and John licked his lips, bending to kiss at Sherlock's spine. Sherlock gasped and shifted again on the mattress. John lost himself for a few minutes, licking and sucking at the prominent bumps of Sherlock's spine, working his way slowly down until his hands were rubbing the smooth skin of Sherlock's arse, tightening and releasing until Sherlock was pushing slightly into his touch.

John held the cheeks of Sherlock's arse apart and kissed down even further, licking from Sherlock's tailbone all the way down to his balls and back up, over and over until Sherlock was trembling under him, muffling his moans into the pillow. Sherlock cried out when John angled his chin, brushing his slightly stubbled skin against the tender spot between Sherlock's arsecheeks.

John smiled at tasting the bit of soap that Sherlock had missed. When John had come home from work, he'd tossed the small kit he'd nicked from the supply cabinet of the surgery at Sherlock, who had fumbled with it for a moment before giving it a puzzled look. The resulting look of embarrassment and arousal on Sherlock's face when he realized what he held had caused John to smirk, snorting under his breath. Neither of them had spoken further, but Sherlock had fairly leapt from the couch and ran for the shower. John's smirk turned into a full grin as he had grabbed the other bag and had run upstairs to get everything ready.

Now, John moved a little closer, taking a deep breath and arrowing the tip of his tongue over the wrinkled pucker of Sherlock's hole. He traced it around and around, feeling Sherlock's muscles twitching in sensation and shock. Sherlock froze under him and John pulled off for a second. "Sherlock?"

"If you stop now, you may rest assured that I have both the means and the capability to hide your body where Lestrade and his band of gormless idiots shall never find it."

John took no small amount of pride in the fact that Sherlock's voice was both a half-octave lower than normal and utterly breathless. He bent back to kiss Sherlock once more, flicking his tongue at the rim before licking him again, moving away from Sherlock and moving down to suck kisses into the skin of his arse and the back of his thighs. John reached for the lube and opened the cap, making sure that his fingers were wet before sliding the tip of his first finger where his tongue had been only seconds before.

Sherlock was tight; his inner muscles gripping John's finger so firmly for a moment that John half-feared he was hurting him. He kissed again at the top of one arse cheek, waiting for a moment for Sherlock to relax completely before moving back down and licking at the skin around his finger.

Sherlock moaned again, and John had to press his own cock against the bed at the sound. They'd only just begun, and the muffled sounds Sherlock was making were driving him mad. Now he understood Sherlock's instance on John keeping on the jeans. Anything to help keep him divorced from the sensations of finally having Sherlock under him was appreciated.

John began to move the finger in small circles, stretching and licking at the rim of Sherlock's hole until Sherlock shifted under him, pressing back for more. Still, John played, taking his time. He moved his mouth away from Sherlock and licked at his own lips, imagining that he could taste Sherlock's skin on them.

John moved the finger in widening circles, stretching the tightness until he felt he could fit in another finger. For all Sherlock's talk of finding someone else (a thought that still made John want to hit something) to fuck, he was brilliantly tight. John pulled his finger out, ignoring Sherlock's small whine of disappointment. He bent his neck again, breathing humid air onto Sherlock's slightly stretched hole. Sherlock jerked on the sheets, still muffling his moans into the pillow below his face. John frowned. He wanted to hear Sherlock come apart under him, hear what he was saying and moaning as John did his best to give him what he'd asked for.

He licked again at the rim. The lube was unflavoured, but had a heavy consistency to it that John wasn't exactly fond of, but given that his choices were do this without lube (no, thanks) or do this without his tongue inside of Sherlock (not a chance) John figured that he could make do.

The tips the first two fingers went in smoothly. John could feel the flutter of Sherlock's muscles as they gripped him, and he slowly worked the two digits inside, listening to what he could hear of Sherlock as a guide. John purposefully avoided Sherlock's prostate, focusing instead on stretching Sherlock until Sherlock was rocking back on his knees into his touch.

John pulled out of Sherlock, and stretched up and over, leaning up to get at the drawer. He had to brush against Sherlock to do it, and Sherlock cried out at the feel of John's denim-covered cock rubbing against his arse. John was distracted for a moment from the drawer. He grabbed Sherlock's hips, fingers still a bit slippery from the lube as he mimed thrusting against him, both of them groaning at the feel. John lipped at Sherlock's shoulder blade, licking at the faint sheen of sweat that covered Sherlock's body.

John made it back down to Sherlock's arse and pulled him to his mouth, licking at the slightly stretched rim. Sherlock shuddered, moaning, his deep voice muffled in the pillow. John plunged his tongue as in as it would go, working his chin against Sherlock's perineum until Sherlock jerked away, from John's mouth with a strangled cry.

"Too... too much. Please, John, it's. I can't..."

John froze for a moment, then sat up. He stroked his hands down the backs of Sherlock's thighs, trying to soothe. John waited, breathing heavily, ignoring the way his own cock was throbbing in his jeans. If Sherlock was any other bloke, he'd just get a leg over and they'd call it a night. But the fact that Sherlock had actually asked John to do this, that he was trusting John to do it _right_ made John feel faintly ashamed of himself. He very much wanted to overwhelm Sherlock, but actually seeing Sherlock overwhelmed from just his mouth made John grit his teeth and take a deep breath, forcing himself to slow down even further. This was about Sherlock, not John. The fact that he was beginning to wonder whether or not Sherlock was doing this for an actual experiment or whether he was just curious and sexually frustrated was beside the point.

"Do you need me to stop?" John smoothed his hand over Sherlock's hips, rubbing his thumbs against the prominent hipbone.

"No." Sherlock was quiet.

John straightened up and opened the drawer, pulling out the toy and shutting it before Sherlock had turned his head. He purposefully waited a minute, showing Sherlock what he held in his hands, enjoying the way Sherlock's eyes widened for just a moment before he bit his lip and nodded. Sherlock's face was so red that John couldn't tell if he was blushing or not. His hair, still wet from the shower and now from sweat, was absolutely mad, curls going every which way on one side, flattened to his head from where Sherlock had pressed his face into the pillow on the other.

John bit the inside of his cheek before he could tell Sherlock something completely inappropriate, like how lovely he was, or how much he loved doing this, or how much he loved...full stop.

John swallowed, tried a weak-looking grin and touched the tip of the toy to his head in a salute. "Okay then. You'll tell me if it all gets a bit much, right?" Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave a sharp nod, eyes flashing for a moment in the dim light of the lamp. John tapped Sherlock's leg and Sherlock stretched, moving his arms out from under the pillow and curling his long fingers over the top edge of the mattress. He shifted so that his legs were stretched out and open, and John gulped, blindly reaching for the lube to make sure it was slick enough.

The plug was black and rather on the large side. It was shaped somewhat like a cone, with there being a large flat piece at the base to keep it from slipping once it was fully inserted. John licked his lips as Sherlock tilted his hips, pressing his cock into the mattress, angling his arse up just enough. John reached out with his left hand to spread Sherlock's arsecheeks so that he could slide the toy into place.

"Don't tense up. That's the opposite of what we're going for, here."

"Excellent advice, thank you John."

John's lips twisted at the wry tone, and couldn't help the affectionate little kiss that he gave Sherlock's left thigh. He began to work in the slick toy, only able to see the effect on Sherlock by the way the muscles in his back tensed and shifted under his skin. The plug was only starting to slide in at its widest point, and Sherlock had hardly made a sound.

John sat back and pulled the toy out with a quick twist of his wrist, settling back on his legs. "Look, sorry but I can't do this."

Sherlock tensed for a full minute before he spoke, his low voice rough with tension. "I understand. It was perhaps poor planning on my part to think that you would be interested-"

John gave the arse cheek in front of him a little smack, so enraptured by watching how the rounded flesh jiggled that he almost missed the completely affronted look Sherlock tossed him over his shoulder.

Almost.

"Turn over."

"John, I don't believe that's a viable..."

"Sherlock." John felt several years of ordering soldiers about come out in those two syllables. Somewhat surprisingly, Sherlock quit arguing mid-word, shifting and swinging one of his long legs so that he could sprawl on his back, much like he did when he first got on the bed. The only difference was that he had drawn up one of his legs to hide the state of his neglected erection, as though he were embarrassed by his obvious need. Sherlock kept his gaze resolutely on the lamp, face turned away from John.

John just stared at him for a moment, mind utterly blank. "How are you so utterly gorgeous?" Wait. Back up. He hadn't meant to say that. Certainly he'd never meant to say it in that dazed, breathy voice. He sounded a right prat.

Sherlock slowly turned his head, meeting John's gaze. John watched as the great git actually preened a little, shifting again on the bed so that John could see the long lines and pale skin of Sherlock's body. "Excellent breeding and almost flawless genetics." Sherlock made a face. "I have no explanation for Mycroft."

"Oh, erguh. No mentioning your brother when I know what your skin tastes like. You're putting me off."

He and Sherlock both pulled the same disgusted face and all of the sudden they were laughing, Sherlock still sprawled on the bed, John kneeling by Sherlock's feet, giggling so hard that he almost ended up arse over tit on the hardwood floor. Slowly they got themselves under control, mostly by making a special point to not make direct eye contact.

"_Putting _you off? Does that mean you're not... put off already?"

"Not entirely, no. It's just... oh damn, I'm going to sound like an idiot."

Sherlock, who usually had absolutely no patience when it came to the verbal flailing of anyone he deemed stupider than himself, was strangely quiet, tensed and waiting for John to gather his thoughts.

"You're. Look, I know that expressing what you're feeling isn't exactly your forte, and that's fine. It's all fine. I knew that you probably wouldn't be demonstrative going into-" he waved his hand around. "This.. But I'm... " John felt himself blushing which was ridiculous given that he'd had his tongue buried in Sherlock's arse not five minutes ago, but there it was. "Even with a one-night stand things weren't this... one-sided. But it's like I'm just some extension of that toy. You have me here to get you off, and not really... participate." That wasn't all of it, but it was what he could bring himself to say. The truth was that John was utterly pathetic. Even with knowing that Sherlock didn't want him the same way Jon wanted him he was still here, the faithful friend, the loyal blogger, greedily taking the scraps of what Sherlock was able to give him. John huffed out an irritated breath, "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I don't think that I can just..." John jerked his head up and stared into Sherlock's eyes. "I don't mind helping you experiment, but I want it to be _me_ that stretches you out,_ me_, that makes you fall apart. I want you to know that I'm _here_."

Too many emotions flitted across Sherlock's face for John to catch them all, but when John tried to get up from the bed Sherlock scrambled forward with a uncharacteristically ungraceful move, knocking John's leg with his knee before he grabbed John's wrist again, tightening his fingers so that his grip was almost painfully tight.

"No." John tried to pull away, but Sherlock's grip changed, tangling their fingers together again. "_No_, John." John tried to ignore the way his heart was thumping at the almost sweet gesture.

"If you truly wish to go then of course I won't stop you." Sherlock tightened his fingers, eyes racing over John's face, as though he couldn't quite bear to let go of John completely despite his words. "I have been told that I am." Sherlock shifted, dropping his gaze to their tangled fingers for just a moment. "Vocal. Humiliatingly vocal."

John's mouth gaped for a moment. "Someone told you that you were too loud?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Whoever he was was a bloody idiot. You sounded... _God_, Sherlock. I don't even have the words. I've never felt less like telling you to shut up in my life." John's grin was wry. "And believe me, that's really saying something."

Sherlock looked smug for a moment before he cocked his head. "So your main objection is that you perceived that I did not want you here?"

John nodded, still feeling like an idiot.

"You are... so very wrong. There is no one else that I want." Sherlock ran his free hand through his still-damp curls. "It was perhaps unwise to use the list. As an ... excuse."

John sucked in a breath. His eyes narrowed for a moment as what Sherlock was actually saying clicked. "An excuse, huh?" He tried to sound as though he was steaming, but was fairly certain that the rather goofy grin stretching across his face pretty much spoke for itself.

Sherlock very deliberately reached out one long arm and handed John the lube. John swallowed hard and watched as Sherlock lay back once more on the wrinkled sheets. John moved so that he was bent over Sherlock's stomach, bending down to lick at the wet spot of precome that Sherlock's cock had left. Sherlock's cock had softened in the time that it had taken them to have their somewhat belated discussion, and while John didn't actually touch Sherlock with his mouth, he did his best to drive Sherlock crazy with just the hint of what he could do. The muscles in Sherlock's abdomen jumped and shuddered each time John licked at the skin there, until Sherlock was making choked little gasps, at each swirl of John's tongue.

John glanced up to see that Sherlock had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching John breathe on him, watching the way John teased until Sherlock's cock was fully hard again. As John started a thick drop of the clear liquid beaded up from the slit in Sherlock's cock, dripping down the smooth head and over the crown. Before John could think, he'd licked at it, causing Sherlock to moan low in his throat and fall back on the bed as though he couldn't bear to watch anymore. John rested his cheek on Sherlock's hip and waited until Sherlock met his gaze. "Tell me. Which do you want more?"

Sherlock didn't pretend not to understand. "Your. Fingers. Don't use the toy, just you. You said you wanted to stretch _aaaah!_"

John slid one finger inside of Sherlock while he spoke, tilting his head to look up at Sherlock's face, watching as his mouth dropped open on the startled cry. Sherlock spread his legs open further and tightened briefly around John's finger. John reached for the lube and moved so that he could see properly. "Legs up."

Sherlock jerked his long legs up so quickly that he actually kicked John in the back of the head with his heel before John could get out of the way. The lube was cold on his fingers as John squeezed the tube a little too tightly, getting much too much on his hand before coating the first three fingers with it. John removed the first finger and slid in the first two, groaning at the feel. "Christ. Look at you." John thrust his fingers in and out, pressing against Sherlock's prostate once just to watch him jump.

"Oh!" Sherlock's toes curled on the edge of the towel and he froze for a second, before tilting his hips again towards John's fingers.

"You can take three, can't you? Are you ready?" John used his other hand to hold Sherlock's cheek, cupping his hand so that Sherlock's balls were nudged out of the way. John didn't want anything to keep him from watching.

Sherlock nodded frantically, biting at his lip. John took him at his word, gently easing in his third finger, moving them so that his middle finger rested on top of the other two before sliding them inside the slick heat of Sherlock's arse. It was amazingly tight, and when John twisted his wrist, Sherlock made a strangled cry of John's name that had him closing his eyes and concentrating very very hard on not coming. John even turned so that he lay on his hip, carefully not allowing himself to rub against the foot of the mattress, worried that he'd go off if he so much as had any sort of friction against his cock.

John slowly moved his fingers so that the three were side by side, feeling the inner walls of Sherlock's arse flutter and twitch as he stretched them. John pulled his fingers almost all the way out, quickly smearing some of the excess lube on himself before sliding them back inside of Sherlock's heat.

He honestly hadn't meant to this time, but when he nudged Sherlock's prostate again, Sherlock twitched, screwing himself down on John's fingers. John saw Sherlock's hand reach for his cock and grabbed at it, pressing the wrist down onto the mattress. From this angle he could actually see Sherlock's balls tighten, watched how Sherlock's prick actually jerked in place before Sherlock was coming, his cock completely untouched.

"JohnJohnJuh-_John_!"

John didn't stop with his fingers, stroking and stretching as Sherlock jerked in place under him, thick spurts of come landing on the mattress, on John's forearm where he still held Sherlock's hand down, and Sherlock's stomach.

John bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the blissful look on Sherlock's face, watched the unfocused gaze slowly come back to himself. His ears still rang with the sound of his name like that, coming from Sherlock's throat. It was intoxicating.

The sharp gaze narrowed on John, who let go of Sherlock's wrist and stared right back, raising an eyebrow. Deliberately, he spread his fingers again, and watched Sherlock's gaze flutter shut for a moment, then widen as he realized that John wasn't done.

"Yeah?" John heard his voice, but didn't recognize it as his own. It sounded three times as wrecked as he felt.

Sherlock's eyes widened briefly before he licked his dry lips, nodding.

"Coming like that will make you more relaxed." John shifted, sliding his fingers out of Sherlock. "So that I can finish. But I'm going to have to move. Here. Shift down for me." John moved so that he was on his knees at the foot of the bed, then huffed when Sherlock threw his pillow at him. He put it under his knees.

Sherlock moved somewhat awkwardly, his limbs still rubbery from his orgasm so that his arse was almost at the edge of John's bed, feet still planted on the mattress, knees bent and spread open for John. John put more lube on his fingers and slid the three back in. There was very little resistance, although Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation.

"Another."

John slid his finger over the small bump of nerves, smirking when Sherlock's whole body twitched. "Quit being so bossy. Git."

It seemed as though the ban on touching Sherlock's cock was over by the way Sherlock loosely held himself. He wasn't completely soft after coming, although he certainly wasn't hard either. Sherlock seemed to enjoy his sensitivity, trailing his fingers up and down his cock as John teased him.

"My refractory period is seventeen minutes and twenty-three seconds." John tilted his head, looking up the long line of Sherlock's body. "You were wondering how long until you could have me achieve another orgasm."

"Hmm. Should be just enough time then." John pulled out and wiggled his fingers, using more lube. He used his thumbs to slick up Sherlock's arse, then slid his thumb and first two fingers inside. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of the different fingers, slightly thicker than the three before.

"Time for wha-ahhhh, _oh_. That is. _John_."

John rested his sweaty forehead on Sherlock's foot, stroking the tip of his ring finger around the stretched skin of Sherlock's arsehole, sliding the excess lube around, almost tickling Sherlock as he continued to spread and twist his fingers, sending Sherlock shuddering around him as he played with the sensitive skin.

The only sounds in the room were the harsh pants of Sherlock's uneven breathing, the wet, obscene-sounding squelch of the lube, and John's low breathing. For several minutes, John was almost lost as he concentrated.

Sherlock began making tiny movements with his hips, and John glanced up at him. Sherlock was staring, dazed at the ceiling of John's room. He could be going over his old case notes for all John knew.

John pulled out for more lube, switching his fingers again. This time he bunched up his four fingers and slid them inside, stopping at the widest part and just holding them there.

John shifted on his knees, moving so that he could mouth at Sherlock's cock. It was still soft, and John could fit all of him inside his mouth. he didn't quite have the coordination to manage a blowjob while he played with Sherlock's arse, but he loved the feel of Sherlock inside of his mouth, the taste of come strong on his tongue.

John pressed on Sherlock's perineum, twisting his fingers so that he nudged Sherlock's prostate at the same time, Sherlock yipped in shock, his whole body jerking in place. Sherlock's cock jumped in his mouth. When John, pressed again, he felt Sherlock's hands on the side of his jaw, fingers feeling his hollowed cheeks as he sucked gently until Sherlock was hard again. John pulled off with a wet pop, sucking in a breath, a long line of saliva connecting them before John pressed his hot face into Sherlock's leg, kissing at the trembling skin there.

He had no idea why he hadn't come yet. His cock had probably given up on him by now. The zipper of his jeans was probably permanently branded on the shaft of his prick. But they were almost there. John took a deep, steadying breath and slowly, so slowly that he almost couldn't believe what he was doing, stretched out the four fingers, twisting and stroking against the walls of Sherlock's arse.

"Sherlock-" Sherlock moaned at the sound of his name, and John realized that he hadn't said anything for quite some time. "I'm going to try my thumb now, okay?"

"_John._" Sherlock's voice was so low that it was just a rumble in his chest. His hand tightened on his cock, the smooth tip looking almost purple against the paleness of his fingers. "Yesss..." Sherlock hissed, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax.

John's mouth was bone dry. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly pushed the tip of his thumb into the stretched rim of Sherlock's arse.

"Oh. Oh.. _Oh_... Oh..._Fuck_!" John jerked his gaze from where he was watching his hand as though it belonged to someone else up to Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes were wide, staring blindly down at John, his head tilted at an almost uncomfortable-looking angle.

John fumbled for the tube of slick, squirting it all over his thumb and spilling it on the mattress in his haste. He pushed his thumb in until he had to stop, the widest part of his knuckles resting against the stretched rim. He was dimly aware that each time he rocked his fingers he brushed against Sherlock's prostate, but was too focused on going slowly, on making sure Sherlock was feeling every bit of pleasure that John could give him.

Sherlock's hand brushed against John's shoulder and John reached up blindly. Sherlock's grip was almost painful as their fingers tangled together for the third time that night, but John didn't say anything, almost overwhelmed now by the miniscule rocking motions of Sherlock's hips. Dimly he became aware of Sherlock muttering something and slowly realized that Sherlock was begging for more. Sherlock's voice was gravel and silk, and John didn't know how he had gone this long without hearing that precise level of desperate need.

Sherlock cried out when the widest part of John's hand slid slowly inside, his arse so stretched around John's hand that the once-wrinkled skin was smooth. John closed his eyes and slid in a little further, feeling as though his hand were burning from the incredible heat of being inside Sherlock like this. Another push, and John's hand was fully inside of him, the rim of Sherlock's arse closing around John's wrist with no resistance.

"Sherlock, oh fuck oh_ fuck _I can't believe this." John's strangled whisper seemed loud over the thud of his heart. Sherlock's hand tightened on his, but was obviously beyond speech, his head tilted so that all John could see was his trembling throat and the curve of his chin.

John had barely started to make a fist when Sherlock jerked his hand free from John's, using both hands and tightening his fingers around his cock again in order to jerk himself off with desperate, frantic movements. John's eyes widened when he realized he could feel Sherlock start to come, and froze, afraid to move as Sherlock jerked and shuddered around him. John's head hit the top of Sherlock's foot with an almost audible _thunk_, lungs absolutely starving for air. He couldn't. He just... Fuck, he needed to come _now_.

John couldn't even get his jeans open. He pressed the heel of his hand against the head of his cock and with one rough rub was coming, soaking his pants and jeans as he felt Sherlock tightening and releasing his inner muscles around his wrist. John shouted something, pressing his open mouth to Sherlock's foot helplessly as he came apart.

The radiator kicked on with a hiss of air and John blinked, aware that his hand was still buried in Sherlock. Slowly, so slowly that he almost couldn't believe it, John slid out of Sherlock's arse, staring at the stretched hole with his mouth slightly open. The skin was red, puffy, and shiny with lube. John bent and kissed him there with the slightest brush of lips that he could manage, knowing that Sherlock was going to be feeling everything in just a few minutes once the endorphins wore off.

Absently John wiped his hand on the towel, kissing Sherlock's knee, the top of Sherlock's hand, and the very tip of his cock before heaving himself up to his feet and heading on very unsteady feet towards the bathroom. When John came back, Sherlock was still sprawled across the mattress, almost completely out of it.

"Sherlock?"

"Mhnghf."

John felt the goofy grin stretch his mouth again. "Sherlock. Wake up a little."

Sherlock opened one eye and glared. Well, tried to. The overall effect was somewhat lacking in ferocity.

"Here's some water. And some Paracetamol."

Sherlock's hand flopped uselessly. John snorted and bent over him, pushing and prodding until he'd drank all of the water and taken the medicine. John took one of the damp towels and gently cleaned all the semen off of Sherlock, then bent to pull Sherlock back up onto the bed properly. Sherlock was less than cooperative, flopping around rather feebly and batting at John's hands until John finally had to haul him up bodily, where Sherlock promptly curled up and started to fall back asleep with an irate and sleepy mutter.

John bent to check over Sherlock's arse, now that he could see properly. He gently blotted at the sticky lube with the towel, cleaning Sherlock up as best he could. Finally, he stripped off to wash himself down, and climb into his bed, shutting off the lamp with a little sigh. Sherlock muttered under his breath again and pushed his head into John's side like a cat needing a bit of a cuddle. John's grin was fond as he curled around Sherlock, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

****

* * *

John tried not to let his smugness show as he stared out of the taxi's window into the wet, rainy London night.

"Shut up." Sherlock shifted again on the seat, clearly uncomfortable but obviously too stubborn to admit that John had been right. After yesterday, to say that Sherlock had been rather sore was the mother of all understatements. John had simply suggested a bath and some rest. Sherlock had put up with the inactivity for an entire day before a text from Lestrade had sent him whirling from the flat in a swirl of his coat. That was while the Paracetamol had kicked in. The limp had come later.

He _was_ a sodding doctor after all.

"I didn't say a thing."

Sherlock huffed and stared out of the other window, a small smile flickering on his lips. John would feel guilty, but every time their gazes crossed, the look in Sherlock's eyes was almost predatory. They made it to the flat, where Sherlock allowed John to fuss over him in the matter to which he was accstomed. An hour later found them both seated on the couch, enjoying their tea and takeaway when Sherlock's gaze landed on his notebook.

John didn't think for a moment that Sherlock was as offhand as he looked. "You have got to be kidding me." John leaned forward and set down his food, shaking his head at Sherlock's speculative, yet ridiculously innocent look. "No part of my body is touching your arse for another two... no. Three days." John narrowed his eyes. "And no one else's body is either. Just so we're clear."

Sherlock waved his hand as though the idea that he would deem to touch anyone else was absolutely ludicrous. "Obviously. No. You've missed the point entirely." Sherlock winced a little as he turned. "_Kissing_, John. I might have discounted it too quickly." Sherlock's pink tongue came out to nervously wet his lips. " I'm told that it can be quite nice. With the right person."

Suddenly the horrified look Greg shot John after Sherlock had cornered him at the crime scene made complete and appalling sense.

John turned to face Sherlock, watching as Sherlock tilted his head down slightly. "So, this is another "experiment", then?" Sherlock loftily ignored John's finger quotes, aside from the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. They were so close that John could feel Sherlock's breath. "Quite a few things are not ticked off on your little list, you know."

Sherlock made a huffy sound. " I'm aware._John_. Are you going to kiss me or not?"

John closed his eyes, unable to hide his smile. "Of course I am, you daft bastard."

And he did.

(or)

THE END

Notes: Okay there are a few more warnings: Brief and non-explict (_really _non-explicit) mention of use of an enema... but believe me if you blink you'll miss it. Some jealousy and possessiveness and awkward stopping and starting while feelings get in the way. Idk if technically that makes it a very (very) light plot, or if it's still a pwp, but since about 92% of it is sex, I went with pwp. Hmm. OH! Thanks to my followers on tumblr for the kink list! Between the shy anons and the people who were unashamed and embracing their many kinks, tah dah! A list! Totally for science, see? I kind of had a bit of a thought of continuing this with other kinks on Sherlock's list, but eehhh. I don't know. Anyway, I'll shut up now. Thanks so much for taking a chance on a first-time writer in this fandom!

* * *

Sherlock and John watching porn  
Sherlock's List (blame this one on me. You might have to click to be able to read it!)  
Sherlock and John's first kiss As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here tumblr, or twitter! 


	2. With A Flick of his Wrist

WIth John's help, Sherlock is able to tick a few things off of his list. Notes: For jlm121. You know that saying that it takes a village to raise a child? Well I think for this fic it took half the internet to answer my questions. With much love and all the cookies to Jlm, diva, thatworldinverted, kiss, sanhaim, and oatmealcoloured.

(See the end of the work for more notes)

Work Text:

In the same 'verse as Experimental Sexual Practices . You might need to read that so that these events make sense: but otherwise... porn. Tagged: Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex, Blow Jobs, Edgeplay, Cock Rings, Butt Plugs

* * *

It had started with that damnable list of Sherlock's.

It was bloody impossible to forget. Not so much the items that had piqued Sherlock's interest, (because frankly it would probably be easier to keep track of things that didn't interest Sherlock, rather than the things that caught his attention) but rather the idea of Sherlock doing half of these things kept John staring off into space, half hard in his trousers at the most inconvenient times.

John had rather stupidly thought that Sherlock had been a virgin. Or... no. Sherlock would never have put off a curiosity about anything- even sex. John could easily see him presenting himself to a fellow sixth former with a demand to satisfy that curiosity with very little fanfare. So if not virginal than certainly inexperienced with sex- without relationships. Not that they were in a relationship.

Then that bloody list.

Really the only problem with having Sherlock's needs and wants spelled out for him is that John found that he wanted to do them all the time.

**Home late. -SH**

Typical. John sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs before standing and making his way to the kitchen. Habit had him avoiding looking at the carefully organized plastic and glass containers on the bottom two shelves. He'd made the mistake of cautiously shaking one once, and when the eyeball had swum up out of the murky liquid John had almost dropped the fucking thing in shock. It had put him off the refrigerator for days.

His phone beeped again. John ignored it for a moment, riffling through a plastic baggie of leftover ham and cheese, and stuffing a piece in his mouth and chewing to free his hands enough to grab his phone.

His notification showed a picture message. John ticked an eyebrow and touched the screen, chewing while the picture downloaded. He rolled his eyes once he saw what Sherlock had sent him. John was fairly certain that it had some kind of significance to his mad bastard of a flatmate, but the picture made rather no sense to him.

Sherlock had given him a close-up of something attached to a key ring; it looked a lot like a bob to unlock the boot of a car, only it only had one purple button on the small dome-shaped piece of plastic. John shook his head, smiling a bit feebly at his phone. Only Sherlock.

John settled on the settee, stretching a little and popping his neck. The 'flu was going around, and John was terribly content to be home, here at 221B with its mismatched chairs and cluttered bric-a-brac. He couldn't be arsed to actually unclutter the bric-a-brac, and given that Sherlock would probably disembowel him if he binned any of his past case notes, John found himself content enough to just sit in the semi-dark and enjoy the relative quiet of the night.

His phone beeped again, and John frowned down at it. By the time he tapped the screen, there were several more dings, signifying several more messages.

John was glad that he wasn't holding anything but his phone when the first image loaded. It was a picture of a small butt plug with a very wide base. It looked to be metallic at the very bottom, and shaped like a short, thick penis. John swallowed hard, trying to force his mind away from the perverted path it had taken.

That Sherlock was sending the images wasn't all that strange to tell the truth. God knew that Sherlock had sent him odder pictures. Still, their sexual relationship was still fairly new enough that John couldn't help but shift slightly on the leather cushion as he tapped to go to the next picture. John could recognize Sherlock's large, graceful hands holding the plug, but instead of the plug being the focus of the picture, it was the leather attachment that was connected to it. At the base there was what looked to be three chain links, ending in a strip of leather. John could see that at the other end of the leather there was something just out of the frame, and sure enough when he tapped his screen to go to the next picture John could see that it ended in what was obviously a silicone triple cock ring

John blinked. The leather strap had to be custom-fitted. No way would Sherlock buy something that didn't fit him perfectly. The idea that he had tried it on, that had planned this made John's breath do funny things in his chest.

John was extremely glad that his observant flatmate wasn't actually observing his reaction to the images. He felt a bit like the cartoon wolf whose tongue rolled out of his mouth, and that was more than a bit undignified.

Of course, given that Sherlock was sending him pictures of custom-made sex toys; "dignified" was a fairly relative concept.

Another ding.

A video.

"Fucking hell."

It was short. Sherlock's long fingers pressed the purple button on the bob, and the plug vibrated in his hand. At least John assumed it was vibrating. Almost as if Sherlock was reading his mind, John watched as Sherlock set it down on a counter. Against the hard surface, John could hear it buzzing, but against skin it hadn't made enough noise to be picked up by Sherlock's camera's microphone. Sherlock tapped the button twice more, and the toy fairly thrashed around on the wooden surface until Sherlock turned it off.

John blinked, reaching down to adjust his own cock in his trousers.

He was so busy rewatching the video that John almost missed the text notification.

**You won't know when I am wearing it. -SH**

John misspelled his reply twice before he managed to send it.

**You won't know when I'm going to use it. -j**

John could almost hear Sherlock's smirk. One thing was for certain. Sherlock was most definitely never boring.

It didn't happen right away. Oh sure, John found the remote attached to his key ring. He wasn't a "proper genius", but even John could fairly quickly deduce that Sherlock wouldn't want him flipping the switch when Sherlock was strung out on too little sleep from a particularly busy case. It was probably worth more than his life to interrupt The Work with something like this. And John had no interest in attempting it while he was stuck at the surgery, and unable to see Sherlock wearing it.

And, truth be told, they didn't have sex all that often. There really hadn't been a chance to. Sure, John had maybe thought Sherlock would let him have hours and hours with all that long, lean body, but it just hadn't happened. There had been their first time, and one other time that had been rushed and over almost before it had begun, quick and dirty frottage up against the wall with Sherlock spinning off almost before he'd pulled his trousers back up, muttering under his breath about of course it had been the downstairs neighbour. The ingrown toenail...obvious.

It wasn't like they were in a relationship really. John had very carefully shied from defining it. It might be a bit cowardly, but he hadn't really been too fussed about attempting to stuff Sherlock into any relationship box. Sherlock had started this as an experiment. Sherlock was adamant about not doing relationships and John... well. John wasn't ready to push it. Friends, flatmates who shared orgasms, both seemed pretty bloody fine for him. Especially when one of the flatmates was delightfully kinky. If not him, then Sherlock would have no problem finding someone else to cross things off that list with.

That fucking list.

The first time John had tried it had been at Angelo's. Oh sure, he'd tried to be sneaky. Not successfully, as it had turned out. Not remotely a shock, given who John was was trying to be sneaky towards, but the raised eyebrow and pointed smirk had been about as subtle as John sliding his thumb over the key bob's remote.

"Really, John. In these trousers? Do pay attention." Sherlock had taken what was for him a rather placid bite of his gnocchi and John could only duck his head and grin. It was true. Trying to hide Sherlock's long, hard cock - he would have had to be hard to wear the cock ring properly- in tailored trousers that absolutely left nothing to the imagination would have been a little bit on the exhibitionist side.

The second time had been a complete and utter cock-up, no pun intended. John blamed the monkey spleen. And is absolutely barking mad flatmate. Still, the 'flu season had left John exhausted and bone tired, and coming home to bits of spleen in the tea kettle was really just not on. It hadn't taken much to realize that Sherlock wasn't just swanning about in his usual Victorian maiden pose, but was instead shooting John these terribly intense looks under his eyelashes...

But sod it all, after two hours of sleep and fluids leaking from all manner of patient orifices all sodding day all he wanted was his bloody tea and. Monkey. Spleen.

The resulting fight had John slamming up to his room and Sherlock in a pouty snit for three days afterwards.

"John!"

John sighed, ducking his head under the water of the bath. Water filled his ears, sending Sherlock's shout into a muffled roar, easily ignored. Sherlock had all but ignored him for the last week, aside from the brand new kettle that had appeared on the hob. If he was being honest with himself, once he'd had about twelve hours of sleep, John hadn't really been all that angry. God knew that Sherlock had done worse. He'd gone downstairs around noon of the next day, ready to apologize for his temper, but Sherlock hadn't been there.

He'd gone on a case without him. He'd solved an entire case without him. John was busy at the surgery of course, and he told himself Sherlock was just trying to apologize in his own weird way, but it still drove home the point that Sherlock for all his brilliance and dashing about with the cheekbones and coat and all of it- he didn't really need John as much as John... well.

Sherlock had made a special point of staying in his room instead of his customary place on the settee, and John had shrugged and gone about his business, figuring that Sherlock would either tell him what had crawled up his arse or tell him to find somewhere else to stay once it came to that.

The door to the bathroom crashed open and John jumped with a squeak, sending water sloshing onto the floor. "Sherlock! What?!" He swiped the soap out of his eyes and squinted up at the great git, frowning.

Sherlock was staring down at him with slightly widened eyes. John flung a bit of water at him and Sherlock jerked in place, features twisting into his customary aloofness. "A Case! Come on, John, Lestrade texted ten minutes ago, hurry."

John slid back under the water to rinse the soap off of himself, purposely taking his time just to watch Sherlock shift impatiently from foot to foot, still in the doorway. "No. I'm finishing my bath, thanks." John rubbed his head with some shampoo. "You didn't need me for the last one, and I suspect you'll do just fine without me on this one." John's smile didn't reach his eyes.

Sherlock froze, looking hurt for a split second before nodding and turning, striding out of the bathroom and pounding down the stairs.

John felt like an utter dick. He sighed so hard the water sprayed onto his toes. "Text me the address," he yelled as something crashed in the kitchen. There was a guilty sounding pause and a rather huffy "fine" before the front door slammed.

The text arrived as John was tugging his jumper down over his stomach, giving John the address, and only the address. John frowned down at his phone feeling a little like he had missed something. Still, it was nice to have Sherlock talking to him again. John smiled to himself as he jogged downstairs to slide his feet into his shoes. There was a honk from downstairs, and John peeked out the window to see a cab waiting patiently.

His phone dinged.

**One can only hope that this cabby isn't as bloody awful. - SH.**

John knew he was fucked when he actually spent a minute staring down at the text message with a dopey grin on his face. This was Sherlock apologizing. It was bloody fantastic; a shock to the system that lit him up from the inside.

Five minutes later found John in the cab. He gave the driver the address and found himself biting his lip as he waited for the driver to make it through the traffic. Sherlock was already bending over the body, his coat clutched tightly to his thin frame as he inspected the feet with his pocket magnifier.

Lestrade noticed John's cab before Sherlock did, and John could tell by the way he walked that Sherlock had been somewhat less than pleasant to be around by the relieved grin on his tired-looking face.

"Jesus, John, I could seriously kiss you right now."

John raised his eyebrows. "People would talk."

Lestrade smirked. "They do little-"

"John!"

Lestrade rolled his eyes at Sherlock's interruption, but stepped out of John's way as he made his way to the corpse. Normally a tech would hand John the booties and protective clothing so that he wouldn't contaminate the evidence, but it was pretty obvious that Lestrade was keen on taking a break from Sherlock.

"Tell me what you see." Sherlock was focused, typing away on his phone. John, now an old hand at climbing into overalls without messing up the elastic of his booties, used Lestrade's shoulder for balance before he walked over towards where Sherlock stood, fingers flying on his phone.

"Well, he wasn't killed here."

Sherlock was quiet. John stood so their shoulders brushed, ignoring the flash sense of memory of Sherlock writhing underneath him, pale skin gleaming with moonlight. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to take in the whole scene, trying to pull his bloody mind out of the gutter.

John didn't see things like Sherlock did; no one did. He generally had to start from the top and work his way down, visually, before examining anything physically. Sherlock continued to stand there, patiently, waiting for John to come to his own deductions in his own time.

It struck him then, that as abrasive as Sherlock often was, he did try to teach as he went. It reminded John of a doctor he knew in Afghanistan who was probably one of the most gifted trauma surgeons that he'd ever had the honour of working with- but the man was such a complete pillock that no one really bothered with him on a social level. Nurses would joke that the patients got better just so that they wouldn't have his personality inflicted on them.

With Lestrade, and sometimes even with Donovan when the two weren't sniping at each other, John noticed that Sherlock would sometimes try to push them to find the answer themselves, as though he were attempting to teach them his own methods. When they got there, there would be an approving twitch of his lips, a minute relaxation of his shoulders. Of course, if they bolloxed it up, it was never pretty. But he did usually give them that initial chance.

John blinked and sighed, and just as he readied himself to speak, Sherlock gave him his full attention.

"He was dumped here, but arranged. No one just falls that way, so the killer wanted us to notice..." John trailed off. By necessity, he had become accustomed to gruesome crime scenes, but that didn't make it any easier for John to accept the depravity that humans could do to one another.

"Yes?"

John licked his lips, feeling a bit like he did in primary school when he had to give a report in front of the whole class. "It's just that the sun is shining through that pane of glass there. It looks like his head was set directly in the beam of light." John looked up, squinting. There was enough of a wind that the clouds were blown about, leaving the sky a crisp, cold blue in the late sunlight autumn mid-afternoon. "He has defensive wounds, but they are face down, there on the pavement. The killer... "John trailed off and squatted, touching the hand after glancing quickly up at Lestrade to make sure that they'd processed everything already. At his nod, he reached out to touch the hand with his gloved finger, ignoring Sherlock's annoyed huff. "He or she put the hands down on purpose I think. Guilty maybe? The face is up so we can see, but everything else..." John gestured at the crumpled way the body lay, sad looking and twisted on the pavement of the car park.

"Interesting. Go on." John met Sherlock's gaze and felt his gut give a funny leap at the intensity he found there.

"Assaulted?" John's voice rose at the end of the word. He looked back down at the corpse, frowning a little in concentration.

"Are you asking, or telling?" Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and pulled his coat shut, buttoning it against the wind.

"No. I don't think..." John couldn't put it in words, but he didn't get that feeling from this corpse.

"Correct, John. Posed, so known to his attacker. You missed the cat hair on the ankle, but that's only to be expected. Killer possibly an older relative, likely female."

"You think the killer was a crazy cat lady?" Anderson's snide remark was like a cold splash of water over the both of them. John hadn't even realized how he had almost turned into Sherlock's frame, their shoulders just shy of brushing.

Sherlock's face, which had for a moment actually looked faintly approving, closed down. He didn't bother responding to Anderson's dig, and John felt no shame in the glare he gave the other man. Sherlock simply crouched down; pulling up the victim's trouser leg with a small pen he kept in his pocket. Lestrade was taking notes, focused on Sherlock's deductions.

"Scratches, possibly canine. Is it canine? Of course not. Obviously feline if you bother to notice the cat hair, Landican. Uncommon." Sherlock flipped his phone so that John could see it. On it was a picture of a woman and the victim smiling at a camera with a rather snippy-looking cat posed between them. The caption read "Mr and Mrs. Wagner, 2013 Westminster Cat Show."

Lestrade winced when he saw the picture, no doubt frustrated at how easily Sherlock had found the information.

"The Wagners were getting divorced. The only contest was custody of the cat- Scrumpulumpapuss." Sherlock hissed the final 's', lips twisting in a very low-key version of his normal sneer.

John had maybe been here for fifteen minutes, tops. Strangely though, there was no vicious diatribe on Lestrade getting Sherlock out of the house for this case- which had possibly been a four at best. "One day, you'll stop amazing me." John shook his head, smiling at him.

Later, he couldn't say what made him do it. John was taking off the protective clothing and his keys just happened to be in his hand. Sherlock was talking to Lestrade by one of the police cars, and by Lestrade's face, Sherlock had gone back to being his normal bastardy self.

With a flick of his wrist, John pressed the purple button.

Sherlock stumbled, flinging out his hand to catch himself against the police car, every muscle in his body freezing at once.

"Oi! you okay, mate?" Lestrade reached out for Sherlock, unfazed when Sherlock evaded his touch almost without thinking. Lestrade raised his voice, pitching it so that John could hear him clearly. "John!"

John took a second to make sure that his face was completely straight before approaching them. Sherlock was already standing up, tightening the Belstaff around him once again, and it struck John then that Sherlock would have had to be hard the entire time he was solving the case.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

"Alright then, Sherlock?" John stopped right on the edge of Sherlock's personal space, unable to help the small smirk. Sherlock nodded once, the curtness of the gesture contrasting with bright pink flush standing out on both of his cheeks.

Lestrade looked from John's face to Sherlock's, and very wisely decided not to ask.

Despite the blush, the snotty look he gave John was pure Sherlock.

Right then.

"I'll just get him home. You know how he is." John forced some semblance of a smile in Lestrade's direction, fervently hoping that the expression on his face wasn't screaming 'desperately trying not to come in his pants' to the DI.

In short order, Sherlock was striding towards the street, presumably to find a cab. Just because he could, John tapped the button again, assuming from the video that Sherlock had sent him that another two taps would turn it onto the next two speeds, with the fourth shutting off the plug.

Sherlock's shoulders curled, his whole frame tightening. John bit his lip, imagining the feel of the plug vibrating through Sherlock's body, the feel of it buzzing up the cord and onto the cock ring. Sherlock would have to be careful with how he walked, the muscles in his arse would have to be carefully clenched so that it didn't move or shift out. John tapped the button quickly, taking it down to its slowest setting. Sherlock jumped when John grabbed his bicep, pulling him away from the kerb and onto the pavement. He set his pace as something he thought Sherlock could handle, walking towards the nearest tube station.

"Oh no you don't. If I know you, you've tested exactly how long that you can wear that thing."

"I have." Sherlock's voice was slightly grittier than normal. Hearing it sent a small shiver up John's spine that he didn't even bother trying to hide. It was delicious.

"And?"

"The designer recommended no longer than an hour and a half."

"Lovely. Unbutton your coat."

"Wh-" Sherlock huffed out a breath of air, shocked into speechlessness when John hauled him into an alley, far enough in that any passer-by would probably not get an eyeful.

Probably.

It was not lost on either of them that several of NSY's finest were only meters away.

"I said." John tapped the button once again so that it was on the second highest setting. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes snapping to John's. "To unbutton." Another tap of the button had Sherlock's eyelids fluttering shut, his pink lips opening in shock. "Your bloody coat." John leaned up to kiss Sherlock's slack mouth, hard. He pushed Sherlock so that detective's back was against the wall, stepping so that his leg was between Sherlock's. John could feel the long, hot length of Sherlock's cock trapped in his trousers against the press of his thigh.

They both groaned at the contact, Sherlock gasping into John's mouth, pulling away with a playful bite to Sherlock's bottom lip. He stepped away, holding Sherlock against the wall with just the palm of his hand. The slight flush from before had travelled down the long column of Sherlock's neck, disappearing into the white dress shirt he wore.

It took Sherlock two tries for his shaking fingers to unbutton the buttons on his overcoat, letting his hand sort of flop to his sides when he was done.

"How quickly can you get me off?"

Sherlock's eyes popped open.

John licked his lips, loving how hard it was for Sherlock to concentrate. "Come now. I don't have the dramatic coat to hide how hard I am, now do I?"

Sherlock shook his head, bemused.

"So the way I figure it, we have about an hour before that is going to have to come off, lest we risk damage." John reached out to undo Sherlock's belt and flies, pulling him from the wall slightly so that he could slide his hand down to feel the base of the vibrating plug. It wasn't completely soundless, but the sound had been muffled with all the layers of clothing Sherlock customarily wore.

John's knuckles brushed against the silicone rings and Sherlock gave a high-pitched yip of sound, his fingers closing around John's wrist in reaction, leaning so that his legs were stretched as far apart as he could so that John could get his hand down there. John stroked the tip of one finger around the stretched rim of Sherlock's arsehole, raising an eyebrow at the sensation of the plug's vibration. Jesus, just against his finger was... "Nice." John removed his hand and casually buttoned Sherlock back up, tucking everything into place. "Tell me what it feels like."

Sherlock let his forehead flop forward so that it rested on John's shoulder. He shook his head, shuddering when John pressed his fingers against the hot length of his cock through the fabric of his pants and trousers. Sherlock was hard enough that John could see the outline perfectly. John tapped the button twice so that the plug went to its lowest setting. "Tell me, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a deep, shaking breath and spoke, his voice gravelly in John's ear. "Yes. About an hour, although there is a quick release if I am in any distress. The third setting is an almost constant pressure on my prostate. I have to tighten the walls of my rectum so that it stays where I want it. Before it was... difficult... to think normally. This setting is just. There. Hovering on the outside of my awareness. Barely there, but. Christ John." Sherlock broke off, shuddering when John flicked his thumb over the head of Sherlock's prick, pressing so that the small bit of precome that Sherlock was able to produce had soaked through the fabric. "To answer your question, I do not have enough data on how long you'd last before orgasm. I've only seen your penis clearly twice and hard only once." Sherlock dropped to his knees, carefully so the plug wouldn't shift inside of him.

John blinked, nonplussed. It was true. Their first time, John had brought himself off almost as an afterthought, his attention focused on Sherlock. Their second encounter had been frantic and rushed mutual wanks against the wall. Sherlock might have gotten an eyeful of John while he had been in the bath, but that hadn't been a sexual context.

Sherlock made quick work of John's jeans, pulling out his cock and staring for only a moment before rubbing his cheek against the shaft. John gasped, shoving the back of his hand into his mouth and bracing himself against the alley wall with the other hand, slumping closer to Sherlock.

They were completely in the open, albeit in a small, rank alley. Rubbish and old clothes were strewn about and it smelled faintly of piss, which shouldn't have been attractive at all. But knowing that someone could walk by at any moment, that an inquisitive copper or witness to the crime scene that they'd just been on could meander by and see the way Sherlock was mouthing at the head of John's cock sent what felt like the rest of the blood in his body directly to his throbbing dick.

Fuck. He had to close his eyes when he felt the humid heat of Sherlock's mouth sucking on the head before pulling off and licking at him, obviously testing what John liked best. Sherlock didn't try to deepthroat him, instead wrapping one hand around the base and wanking him, lightly at first then harder as John spread his legs and braced himself, unable to help the tiny rocks of movement into Sherlock's tightened fist. Each sloppy, wet sound made John's balls tighten more, closer and closer to coming. Sherlock's mouth finally made its way back to the head, sucking so that he was wanking John into his mouth, flattening his tongue on the underside then flicking it over the slit.

John made a strangled sound and tried to pull his hips away. Sherlock wouldn't let him; gripping John's hip with fingers that pressed tightly enough that John knew he'd be bruised the next day. John had just enough of a presence of mind to turn up the vibration on the plug before Sherlock's fingers spasmed tightly on his hip. With the small kiss of pain John came with a low, muffled moan of Sherlock's name, the sound lost for him in Sherlock's heavy panting at the feel of the toy buzzing deep inside.

There was a beat of silence. John turned off the toy, giving his head a little shake at Sherlock's displeased sound. With his head still reeling, John muttered "So, two minutes, then. And no, you need a moment."

Sherlock snorted, turned his head and spit onto the ground which was so delightfully filthy that John couldn't help the way his cock gave a feeble sort of twitch, still gripped in Sherlock's fist. John pulled back, sucking in a shuddering breath as he tucked himself back in, zipping up with a slight wince of oversensitivity.

Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's stomach, making little twisting movements so that his cock brushed against John's leg. John swallowed, watching him with something like shock at actually being witness to Sherlock giving into his body's wants. "You're not going to get off that way."

"Yes, John, thank you." Sherlock sounded so testy that John had to laugh, stepping back to help Sherlock to his feet. Sherlock shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, obviously trying to regain control over his body.

John took a step back, eyes wandering up from Sherlock's feet, to the dirt and grit that he hadn't yet brushed off his knees, to the obscene jut of Sherlock's cock outlined against his thigh, made even more obvious by the small wet patch on his trousers. Sherlock was standing still except for his chest, heaving with his breathing. His nipples were hard and pressed against the fine fabric of his shirt, his neck covered with a light sheen of sweat. His normally pale skin was bright red, and his lips looked wrecked, puffy and wet. He sucked in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes meeting John's gaze with a slow, dazed blink.

"Yeah?" John reached out with his thumb to brush off Sherlock's bottom lip. "You need to stop?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock stood taller and buttoned his coat, carefully taking off the open scarf and balling it up into one of the pockets. He started to walk towards the other side of the alley, leaving John to follow. They were almost out of the alley when Sherlock stopped short. "You were heading towards the ...Tube." He spoke slowly, drawing out each word as though the dedication was one that he could not begin to believe.

John just raised his eyebrows, a question and an acknowledgement at the same time. In answer, Sherlock just turned back around and continued walking; slowing once they left the dank alley so that John could walk besides him. John put his hands in his jacket pockets, purposefully brushing Sherlock's arm with his elbows. His keys were in his hand, hidden in his pocket.

The hour was late enough that they had a bit of a wait on the platform before they could get on the train, John waiting until Sherlock had taken his first step forward before turning on the vibration again. He heard Sherlock's sucked-in breath and revelled in it.

It took John a moment to catch up to Sherlock, who stood wedged into the back of the train, near the window. There were at least twenty people in the small space, and John couldn't ignore the way his heartbeat sped up as he caught on to what Sherlock wanted. John ignored the fact that part of him felt as though he were putting on a show for everyone he'd known since primary school, stepping up so that he was right behind Sherlock, his hand pressing against the small of his back as he shifted, as though trying to find space.

Sherlock kept his body tense, turning so that John could only see the outline of his face, his back to the rest of the mass of humanity on the train. To their right a young woman sat intent on her phone. There was a couple already so engrossed with each other that John privately thought Sherlock could have stripped naked and started to shimmy and they probably wouldn't have noticed. He bit his lip and turned up the speed on the plug, eyes locked on Sherlock's face. They were only fifteen minutes or so from their stop, then there was the walk from the station to their doorstep before Sherlock would have any relief.

John was curious about how much of this Sherlock was actually enjoying. He didn't think that he would enjoy such a constant pressure, the muscles of his arse constantly tightening and releasing around the plug as it buzzed. It seemed like it would be uncomfortable and awkward. Sherlock though could have removed it in the alley but chose not to, instead leading the way to the tube station so that he would be here; turned on and desperate in front of an unknowing audience.

Sherlock's breathing was getting threadier and he turned to look at John, catching him in his intense stare for what felt like ages. John took his free hand out of his pocket and raised his eyebrows again.

Sherlock gave a tiny nod and stepped forward. John felt like a great pervert as he hugged Sherlock to him, in case anyone was watching, then threaded his free hand around Sherlock's waist, pulling him so that he was against John's waist, standing with one of his legs between John's. John leaned forward and kissed him, a chaste brush of lips that had Sherlock grunting "bastard" under his breath.

They stood like that for a moment pressed close like lovers. When the train stopped for the next group of people to stumble on, John became aware that Sherlock had been rocking with the movement of the train, brushing his cock against John's body with light, teasing touches that had to have been driving him to the limit. If it had been John, he would have been begging to come by now.

John waited until they were moving again before pushing it just a little further. The Baker Street station was only a few minutes away, thank Christ. John moved a little to block a little more of Sherlock's body with his own and patiently waited for the train to gather speed again. This time, when Sherlock resumed the rocking movements, John turned tapped the button so that it was on its heaviest setting. Sherlock froze, his gaze whipping to John's for an instant, before deliberately looking away. He stretched out his arms to hang onto the pole, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it tightly, unable to show any other reaction in a train full of busy Londoners commuted home from work, or play, or wherever their little lives had taken them.

John worked it so that as Sherlock rocked forward; he got a jolt from the buzzing plug, then turned it to the low setting when he rocked back. Finally the movement caused a small, secret moan from deep in Sherlock's throat and John tightened his hand on Sherlock's hip in warning. The woman on her phone kept shooting them little looks over the top of her phone, a funny little smirk on her face. John turned it off at the announcement for their stop and started to walk forward. He didn't even care that his own cock was half hard in his jeans as he walked forward, the hand on Sherlock's hip grabbing the detective's wrist instead, pulling him along and out of the train car, up the steps and onto the street.

"John. Again." Sherlock almost growled as they walked at a fast clip towards 221, John still pulling Sherlock along behind him as though afraid he'd get lost without the guidance. Sherlock, instead of utterly disdaining the contact, seemed to crowd against John, shamelessly brushing himself against any part of John he could reach. Finally, Finally they were home. John purposefully put it on its highest setting, his own lungs working like a bellows as he hauled a moaning Sherlock up the seventeen steps to their front room, yanking Sherlock through and kicking the door shut behind him. Sherlock shrugged off his outer coat and suit jacket with a graceless movement, kicking them out of his way.

"Off," Sherlock cried out, now that he could do so without repercussions, tripping as he kicked off his shoes, flopping back onto the settee with a strangled sound as the plug shifted inside of him at the abrupt movement.

John followed him, desperate to see. He shut off the toy and Sherlock keened, scrambling at his flies with clumsy fingers, arching up so sharply that his spine curved into something that looked hideously uncomfortable.

"Shh. Sherlock. Breathe. Breathe."

Sherlock groaned and forced himself to calm down, relaxing back onto the leather cushions.

"Can you wait just a little longer?" John cupped Sherlock's face in both hands, tilting his sweaty face so that he could see him properly.

"I. I, yes, but I want to come." Sherlock's whine shouldn't have made John smile. Sherlock managed to get himself out of his socks, twisting and wiggling impatiently and flinging them across the room with his toes. John bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

"I know. You will. God, you've been hard for so long." He took his hands back, and batted Sherlock's shaking fingers out of the way, unbuttoning and opening the dress shirt. John made quick work of Sherlock's belt and trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping them carefully. "Up."

Obediently, Sherlock titled his bum up so that John could slide off his pants and trousers together, leaving him sprawled, naked on their settee.

"Fuck."

John bent to lap at Sherlock's trapped cock, fumbling for the button to turn the toy on again on its middle setting, the one that Sherlock seemed to like the best. He had a moment to taste salt and sweat before Sherlock jerked back with a cry. "It's too mu-. Oh. Oh, please. Please, John."

John licked at his lower lip, pulling back so that he could push Sherlock's long legs up so he was spread open. He didn't touch Sherlock's over-stimulated cock, but wanted to see what had been tormenting him for so long.

His balls were tight, kept away from Sherlock's body by the rings, the leather strip connecting the cock ring and the plug stained dark with sweat. John made a mental note to clean it later as he reached out with one finger to touch the rim of Sherlock's arse, stretched around the wider end of the base of the plug. Like this he could feel the vibrations and almost before he was thinking about it, John slowly removed it from Sherlock's hole, watching as the muscle twitched around nothing. Sherlock bucked and John felt his spindly fingers grasping at John's shoulders. Before drawing it out completely, John pushed it back inside, slowly fucking him with it, focusing on pressing the base against his rim, knowing that the nerves there would be sending pulses of sensation to Sherlock's prick.

Sherlock's heels dug into the cushion as he bucked forward again, flinging his arm up to hide his face. The muscles in his thighs were trembling. Belatedly, John realized that he had been staring down at Sherlock in stunned awe, greedily watching as Sherlock's arse took the toy over and over. With a flick of his wrist he turned off the plug and slowly removed it, having to hold it with his other hand so that the weight of it wouldn't pull on the cock ring. Sherlock was right. The safety catch would be easy to press, but John waited until Sherlock's breathing had gone from frantic to deep gasps, waiting even longer as Sherlock slowly removed his hand from his sweaty, red face, looking down at John in stunned shock. There were tears leaking out of Sherlock's eyes.

John wanted to taste them, too.

John smiled and slipped two fingers inside of Sherlock's arse, stopping just short of the small bump of nerves. "Ready?" He almost didn't recognize his own voice. It had lowered at least an octave in anticipation.

Sherlock nodded, biting his lip. He let go of John's shoulder and rested his hand on the settee, trying to relax as much as he could, then reached up to hold his own cock where it had laid against his stomach. John waited, a slow count to ten before he pressed lightly against Sherlock's prostate, releasing the catch on the cockring at the same time.

Sherlock howled, grunting and moaning as he came, shooting come in several thick spurts that landed on his stomach and chest. He twisted, bucking again into John's crooked fingers, one heel slipping off the couch and accidentally kicking John in the side as he twisted and shuddered, still coming, finally dribbling over his fingers and onto the couch as he collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

John realized that his mouth was open a little as Sherlock stared at him, dazed.

"Well. That was tedious."

He couldn't say which of them started giggling first: Sherlock naked and covered in his own come, fucked out on his own couch, or himself, kneeling at Sherlock's feet with his fingers still up his arse.

John disengaged himself and got up on shaky legs to find a flannel, absently sticking the toy onto the table next to Sherlock's microscope. He heard Sherlock get up behind him and turned just as Sherlock crowded him up against the counter.

"I- oh."

Sherlock just smirked and cupped John's dick through his jeans, rubbing and bending to kiss John's lips. Sherlock was strangely tactile; pressing the full length of his sweaty, naked body against John's clothed one, unbuttoning him and wrapping his hand around John's length.

Sherlock refused to look away from him, and it didn't take John long to come, pulling Sherlock's mouth to his with a groan and kissing him deeply, overwhelmed by everything this mad, brilliant man had one.

"The next time, I want to properly see you."

"N-next time?" John stuttered, still shaky from coming twice in an hour. He pulled back and licked his dry lips.

"Of course." Sherlock let him go, wiping his hand on the flannel John had gotten for him and actually winking at him before he used it to pick up the toy, making his careful way back to his bedroom.

"Next time," John repeated with a whisper, closing his eyes with a deep sigh.

There was just no telling with Sherlock. 'Next time' could be tomorrow or a month from now. If he knew his flatmate at all, Sherlock was already mentally crossing out and cataloguing what he had enjoyed from the experience.

There were, after all worse experiments.

He couldn't sodding wait.

* * *

(Gah, I know it's a little hard to read. Sorry)

Or you can see it here on my tumblr.

* * *

As always, thanks for commenting and the concrit, either here tumblr, or twitter!

Notes: Oh fuck it all, it ended up being a casefic of sorts, to be continued in the next part(s). Regarding that, let me know which of the list you think they should do next. Everything but a threesome is on the, er.. table... for reasons that I am not at liberty to say at this time. *grin* **PSA ON COCK RINGS. OKAY**  
Okay-I can't believe I'm typing this, but I know some of you are going to ignore the wildly kinky fictional sexcapades and focus on ~realism~. So here: there are different kinds of cock rings. One ring does not in fact, rule them all. In actuality, you should probably not wear one longer than about a half an hour, unless you are very patient and experienced. Penis Gangrene man, that's all I'm gonna say.


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